


Some Changes

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 02:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13021176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: The end of the world is nigh, but they've still got time to enjoy life and each other.





	Some Changes

**Author's Note:**

> i play almost exclusively as Mòrag and ha ha man when she gets hit by a stench affliction from an enemy because she's tanking everything... and Brighid runs away from her... baby please, don't do that to your wife
> 
> also there's hints to a later heart-to-heart in Fonsett, but nothing terribly spoilery overall should be here i think

“Word’s going round that a couple Jagrons from Godford Isle are wandering too close to Fonsett,” Rex says on an otherwise completely unremarkable morning. Of the entire group cramped around the kitchen table, only Mòrag and Tora seem to hear him, as the rest are too busy trying not to knock elbows while they help themselves to breakfast. “The village hasn’t really got any Drivers, and I already promised Mason I’d help him out with repairing that old building today, so I was wondering if…”

“Tora volunteers!” Tora eagerly waves a wing and smacks Zeke right in the face as a result. “Perfect opportunity to test out new mod for Poppi, too! What say you, Poppi?”

“Sounds like fun, Masterpon.”

Somewhat unexpectedly, Mòrag chimes in. “Brighid and I shall accompany you as well, Tora.”

“Great!” Rex smiles at them both. “That’ll take care of the Jagron problem, and we’ll still have plenty of hands for the work to be done here. Thanks, guys. Sorry to shove the task off to you.”

“Think nothing of it.”

* * *

 

Breakfast ends without any further incidents, aside from Zeke getting smacked in the face another couple times by accident, and the group splits in two for the day. Tora, Poppi, Mòrag, and Brighid set off for Ysheva Harbor, Tora leading the way with a merry march accompanied by Poppi’s mechanical rhythm.

“Tora knows that Mòrag and Brighid are super-duper powerful, but pleaaase leave some Jagron butt for Tora and Poppi to kick! Otherwise, won’t be able to test new Skill RAM properly. Okay?” Tora speaks as though they’re about to go fight some Bunnit instead, but he does have a point. If they wanted to, Mòrag and Brighid could have come out by themselves to exterminate the Jagron without any help.

“Of course. We’ll just divert their attention so you can attack them however you’d like,” Brighid says.

“What sort of modification have you whipped up this time, Tora?” Mòrag asks.

“Is called, Avenger II! Even Tora not quite sure what it will do.”

“…I see.”

Still, he sounds so excited that Mòrag can’t exactly begrudge him for that. It doesn’t take much longer for them to arrive at the neighboring island. The usual Bunnits are nowhere in sight, probably due to the presence of a pair of large Jagrons pawing around at the sand and grass. Mòrag draws her whipswords and Brighid automatically follows behind. It looks like there aren’t any people at the docks this morning, but it would still be best to eliminate them as quickly as possible.

“Tora, Poppi. Wait until they’re focused on me before you begin attacking.”

“Roger-roger!”

_“Azure Striker, Form the Second: Blaze!”_

True to their word, Mòrag and Brighid refrain from instantly burning the Jagrons into ashes, instead using the flames to draw their attention as Tora and Poppi run behind them. The Jagrons snarl and claw at Mòrag, so furious when their target deftly weaves around all their attacks that they hardly even pay any mind to the hits coming from behind.

“Wowow, friend Mòrag so fast, Jagrons can’t even touch her…”

“Tora! Less prattling, more battling!” Mòrag shouts. She strikes at the Jagrons’ feet with a flurry of flames when they turn just for a moment to see what’s been hitting at them from behind, and they both resume focusing all their attacks on her. Even Brighid appears somewhat concerned; with Mòrag purely on the defensive to allow Tora and Poppi to hit them as many times as they want, she’s beginning to wear out as the fight drags on longer than necessary.

“Friend Mòrag have very good point, Masterpon.”

“R-Right! Leave it to Tora! And Poppi! Steady Drill!”

“Lady Mòrag, watch out—!” Brighid calls out a split second too late. The Jagrons, now enraged, suddenly begin to move more erratically, and one of them _spits_ something at Mòrag— and hits her, just as Tora and Poppi finally fell the first of the beasts. The remaining Jagron howls and strikes at Mòrag while she’s stunned, sending her tumbling to the ground. Brighid looks as though she’s about to rush right to her side but hesitates for some reason.

“Hold on, Tora and Poppi to the rescue! One more hit, Poppi! Big Boost!”

At last, the second Jagron collapses, dead. Mòrag is slowly sitting up, rubbing the back of her head and muttering something under her breath. “Urgh…”

“Tora so sorry! If Tora had not been distracted by Mòrag’s fancy footwork, would have been able to beat Jagrons much more quickly!”

“You make it sound as though it was my fault, Tora.”

Poppi flaps her arms as if she’s trying to fly off into the sky. “Please forgive Masterpon’s very poor choice in wording!”

Mòrag looks to Brighid, noticing that she’s keeping her distance and looking decidedly uncomfortable. “Brighid? What is…”

Then the stench hits her nose.

“… Ah.”

“That Jagron’s attack…” Brighid coughs into her fist, still making no move to come any closer to her Driver. “I’m sorry, Lady Mòrag, but the smell is _unbearable_.”

“Is true! Tora’s nose just about to fall right off! Peeewey!”

“Poppi doesn’t mind. Because Poppi cannot smell anything!”

“… Right. Thank you, Poppi.”

Maybe she should have told Tora and Poppi to stay with the others and come out to take care of the Jagrons alone with Brighid. Ah, well, too late to linger on poor decisions. Mòrag pushes herself up to her feet and tries not to gag, her mood taking a steep nosedive when she looks down at her ruined uniform. So much for an easy mission.

“On the bright side, test of new Skill RAM a complete success! Tora decide it is rather useless after all!”

Wonderful.

* * *

 

Thankfully, the others are still off on the other side of the village when they return, so Mòrag’s dignity is spared any jokes from Zeke or nose-wrinkles from the rest. Tora is quick to babble some excuse to get away from her and run off, supposedly to help everyone else, calling for Poppi to hurry along and keep up. It’s much more quiet now that she’s alone… with Brighid.

With Brighid, who is still walking several meters behind her.

“Is it really that bad, Brighid?”

“I wish I could say it isn’t.”

Mòrag sighs, and coughs. It really is bad, actually. She’s not quite sure why she didn’t jump out of the way fast enough, maybe it was because she was trying to keep an eye on Tora and Poppi, maybe because of other reasons, all of which are basically pointless to mull over now. Unsure where else to go, she heads for Corinne’s, half-hoping for Brighid to go tell her to swim in the Cloud Sea instead.

She doesn’t. Corinne, tending to the garden out front, puts a hand over her nose as Mòrag approaches. At least she doesn’t look too bothered.

“Before you say anything, it’s alright, I’ve smelled much worse from the children,” she says, an unsaid _and Rex_ strongly hinted at the end. “Go on, then, the washroom is all yours.”

“… Thank you.”

They head inside. Mòrag pauses at the washroom and turns to Brighid, who’s still keeping her distance. “You don’t have to stay with me. Go join the others, if you’d like.”

Perhaps the hurt in her voice was too evident, because Brighid’s posture suddenly appears rather sheepish for a very brief moment, her flames flickering. “I’ll heat the water up for you.”

“There’s no need. If the smell truly is bothering you, I won’t keep you here.”

“You’re too gracious, Lady Mòrag.”

Assuming that’s that, she enters the washroom and closes the door behind her before she can see the look on Brighid’s face. Better just wash up and pretend like the whole thing never happened, then. Still, for the Empire’s most powerful Driver to be hit with such an affliction is just… undignified. Embarrassing. Mòrag runs a hand over her face with a long exhale and quickly sheds her uniform, still carefully folding the pieces even though it’s in dire need of a washing.

She’s just finished drawing the water and settling down in the tub when there’s a soft knock at the door. “Lady Mòrag? If I may come in?”

Ah. Mòrag pulls her knees up to her chest and half-heartedly glares at the surface of the water. The fact that this bothers her more than it should is only exacerbating it even more, which is wholeheartedly annoying all in itself. In the end, it’s like she’s just bothering herself, isn’t she?

“You may.”

Brighid offers an apologetic smile as she enters, carrying a bundle in her arms. She closes the door behind her and sets the bundle down on a small wooden stool. “I hurt your feelings, didn’t I?”

“Not at all.”

“You’re pouting, Lady Mòrag.”

“What?”

“It’s because I wouldn’t come near you, isn’t it?”

“That’s not…”

But Brighid just chuckles and sits on the edge of the tub, dragging her fingers through the water, too close to Morag’s skin. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“I never said it was something to apologize for.”

“The look on your face said enough.” She dips her hand in, and Mòrag can feel the water already getting warmer. “It’s actually kind of funny. You’ve never been this open before. The influence of the Aegis and her Driver knows no bounds, apparently.”

Mòrag knows exactly what she’s talking about, but. “What are you saying, Brighid?”

“What I’m saying, is that the Special Inquisitor of Mor Ardain would have pretended like she didn’t even notice the smell, and expected me to act accordingly as well. I believe you’ve changed, Lady Mòrag.”

The water’s getting close to scalding now, but not uncomfortably so. Mòrag watches the water bubble around Brighid’s wrist and pulls her knees to her chest more tightly. “I am _still_ the Special Inquisitor.”

“I know. You’re still Mòrag Ladair.” She pulls her hand out of the water and smiles at Mòrag. “And I still enjoy your company quite a lot.”

“Even when I stink of Jagron breath?” Oh, great, that sounded like a child’s retort. Perhaps Brighid is spot-on after all. Mòrag slips down lower into the water until her mouth is submerged.

“Yes. Even when you stink of Jagron breath.” Brighid kneels on the floor beside the tub and rests her arms along the edge. “Also, if you don’t mind me saying, you look quite good with a pout like that.”

Mòrag slowly shakes her head and extends her legs as far as they’ll go in the cramped wooden tub. “I am not the only one who has changed, seems like.”

“Mmh. We both have, haven’t we? Even though we’ll always be the same people, really…” They go silent for a moment, pondering the implications behind those words. Then Brighid quickly grabs a washcloth and bucket. “Here. Let me wash your hair for you, Lady Mòrag. It’s the least I could do. I even bought some herbal shampoo and a set of clothes for you to wear while your uniform is being cleaned.”

The washroom is small, and old, and not terribly clean in the corners, but Mòrag is still reminded of their days in the luxury of Hardhaigh Palace when they’d bathe together in Mòrag’s private baths. She misses a great deal of things even though their group’s been visiting Alba Cavanich frequently enough, but those days had been so vastly different from the nows when Mòrag takes a Jagron Corpse Frenzy attack head-on for the sake of a Nopon and his artificial Blade, when said Nopon and artificial Blade are just trying out new modifications.

She relaxes and closes her eyes as Brighid’s fingers work at her scalp. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you, in these tumultuous times.”

“Change isn’t so bad when you’re able to face it with a loved one, isn’t it?”

“Mmh.”

* * *

 

Despite their polite protests, Corinne takes on the laundry to allow Mòrag and Brighid time to relax in the village together after such a hectic morning. Mòrag doesn’t feel quite like herself in the clothes that Brighid had provided for her; they’re simple and the kind of thing that someone from Fonsett would wear, not the most powerful Driver of the Empire. But Brighid says that she looks soft in a nice way, so Mòrag has no objections.

“Who on Alrest is _that_ with Brighid?” Zeke is the first to point her out when they go to regroup with everyone else. “Is that the Flamebringer? Really? Wearing the outfit of the common village folk?”

“Shut it, Zeke,” Mòrag calmly responds.

“Never said it’s a bad thing, Mòrag!”

“Hey! Mòrag, Brighid! Tora said you guys were a great help with taking down those Jagrons!” Rex waves from the rooftop, brandishing a hammer. “Thanks a bunch! We’re just about finishing up here, actually.”

Nia strides up to Mòrag and narrows her eyes, scrutinizing her up close. “… You’re like a whole different person, without that hat and uniform. S’ _weird._ ”

“Come now, Nia, surely you didn’t think I was permanently affixed to that one set of clothing.”

“‘Course not! I’m just saying! … It’s not a bad look at all, actually. Makes you look less _imposing_.”

“Is that so? Well, perhaps I could benefit from softening my image around the rest of you from time to time.”

All work on the building stops. Rex would have fallen off the roof if not for Pyra’s quick reflex to grab his arm. “Really? Y’mean that, Mòrag?”

“Well, why not?”

“Because you’re so… you?” Zeke scratches his head. “I mean, you’re the Special Inquisitor of Mor Ardain, for crying out loud.”

“Well, I like that!” Pyra declares. “Mòrag should do whatever makes her feel more comfortable. We should all support that too, right? So let’s not push her in the spotlight whenever she’s out of uniform.” She smiles down to Mòrag, still holding onto Rex’s arm. “You look lovely, Mòrag. I mean it.”

“That’s— also what I meant. I guess,” Nia turns away, arms crossed. “Not word for word, but you get it.”

“Yup, never hurts to go casual now and then,” Zeke says.

The conversation naturally lulls off into something else— something about Tora eating too many Tasty Sausages for his own good— as work on the building continues. Pyra insists that Brighid and Mòrag go enjoy the rest of the day by themselves since they already have more than enough hands for the work, and with not much else to do they take her up on that offer.

Mòrag slips her hand into Brighid’s once they’re out of sight and alone amongst the trees. The breeze gently tousles her hair, unrestrained from her usual hat, and Brighid wonders if she’d ever seen a lovelier sight in all her previous incarnations.

“You’re right. I’ve been changing.” She looks out at the Cloud Sea, a small smile on her face. “I will always be true to my duties to the Empire and His Majesty, but someday… perhaps, if it’s allowed, I’d like to live in a place like this. With you, Brighid.”

Something in both their chests flutter and Brighid squeezes her hand, her flames gently licking at Mòrag’s skin without burning. “Is that how you really feel?”

She nods. “It is exactly as you said. I can face any changes that are yet to come, as long as you are by my side.”

When they’re like this, together, fingers entwined and the heat of their hearts beating as one, it’s almost difficult to imagine that the end of the world is a very real possibility that creeps ever closer. The days of peace are not to be taken for granted, they know. They can banter with the others, run tasks for the villagers, fight Jagrons, hold hands, act like everything is okay— and everything will be okay. The future doesn’t seem so bad, at this moment.

Brighid leans into her, her smile wistful yet warm. “Someday then, Lady Mòrag.”

“Yes. Someday.”


End file.
